


Jung Taekwoon's New Nightmare

by ScarlettSiren



Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Biting, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Breathplay, Choking, Forced Orgasm, Halloween Challenge, Knifeplay, M/M, Marking, Minor Character Death, Murder, Non-Consensual Bondage, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prompt Fic, Rape, Riding Crops, Rope Bondage, Sexual Violence, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: Jung Taekwoon is a Bestselling author with a looming deadline. As the pressure becomes too much, anxiety sets in, and he begins seeing what he believes is a hallucination of the antagonist of his ongoing book series, Beautiful Liar. It isn't long before he comes to realize that the figure in the darkness may not merely be his mind playing tricks on him at all, as he comes face to face with the reality of his creation.





	Jung Taekwoon's New Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> For a Halloween Prompt: An author’s fictional villain stalks him.
> 
> Title inspired by “Wes Craven’s New Nightmare”, a film which breaks the fourth wall and has Freddy Krueger coming into the real world and writing the script himself for the film. You can blame VIXX LR’s Beautiful Liar visuals for making Ravi the villain here.
> 
> ** WARNINGS: Please take my archive warnings seriously. Please please PLEASE do not read if anything in the tags makes you uncomfortable. Tbh this isn't my usual bag so I'm nervous about posting it, I don't want to make anyone upset so please, please take my warnings seriously. This fic includes rape, torture and murder (no MCD).

Taekwoon sighed for about the hundredth time that evening, glancing at the clock. Two hours had gone by, but he was only about three-hundred words deep into his latest chapter. When he re-read it to orient himself, he grimaced.

It sounded like shit.

Letting out a growl of frustration, he snapped his laptop shut and trudged into the kitchen. It was four am and he could do with some coffee.

A cursory glance in his pantry reminded him he ran out of grounds the day before.

Taekwoon groaned. Just his luck. He needed to work on this damn novel, and he needed some damn caffeine, and it felt like the entire damn world was against him.

“Guess I’m going out.” He grumbled to his empty apartment, bagging his laptop, pocketing his wallet and sliding on his shoes. He was in a pair of torn up, loose jeans and a baggy sweater, his hair an absolute disaster where it swooped just beneath his brow in any which direction it pleased, but he was beyond caring. A change of scenery would likely do him some good. New scenery, and coffee.

A bite of autumn chill struck him as he exited his apartment building, a swanky crib located in the heart of downtown. The royalties from his first two books had earned him the life of luxury he’d always dreamed of achieving, but the third and final installment… well. That was the one thing that eluded him. He’d been given a generous advance, but also, a strict deadline. It was looming ever nearer, and as the weather grew colder, he knew he would soon have to produce a novel in time for a spring turnover or risk losing his contracts.

Writing hadn’t always been this hard.

There was a time when Taekwoon could sit down at his laptop and knock out three chapters in a single day. That had been when inspiration soared and his muse whispered endlessly to him, tales of great intrigue, mysterious heroes and dark shadows. But his muse was silent, now. She had wandered off into the endless night, and though he felt sometimes as if he were visited by her, in a moment of clarity or revelation, she seemed to leave as quickly as she had come.

In those times before, solitude had been his refuge. His sanctuary. His workshop. But when in a drought of inspiration, he wondered if it could help to immerse himself once more in the world of men. He was not a conversationalist… though he was a man of many written words, he was one of few actually spoken. He abhorred menial conversation and pointless prattle. But… people. People were interesting, most often for what they did not say.

Sipping at his too-hot concoction of coffee and sugary cream, he made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs near the front of the café. No matter the hour, such establishments were always busy, the white noise of idle chatter a constant buzzing around him in the background. He opened his laptop, but found himself focused on the world beyond the screen. The two women nearest him were huddled close together, speaking in hushed tones and giggling. There was a younger man who was glued to his phone, yet another on his laptop who was clearly engrossed with his game.

Taekwoon’s eyes lingered outside the café windows, where he could watch the people milling by. In his early days of writing, he would challenge himself to make up little stories for each person he saw… the more believable, the better. But now, he just found himself settling into the common habit of judgement: what was she doing getting that drunk in public? Did that kid think anyone actually believed he was of age? Did that couple have any sense of decency or did they live for the shock-value of exhibitionism? It was actually tiresome. He was beginning to think coming here was a bad idea, save for the glorious hot brew he was currently nursing.

Taekwoon’s gaze tracked once more through the café boredly. But then… something caught his eye. A man in the far corner whom he had not seen just minutes before. He was cast in shadow, but the writer could just make out the whites of his eyes, the shape of his face, and a shock of unnaturally-bright hair. Kids these days tended to experiment with dye a bit more than they used to, but it was still an unusual sight. And yet, no one seemed to pay him any mind. He sat, unmoving, his chin resting on his hand. Taekwoon realized the man was looking directly at him, unblinking. He couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity tugging at his subconscious, though it was drowned out by an unsettled feeling in his gut.

Tearing his eyes away, he glanced down at his laptop screen, pretending to type. He was sure whatever he managed to tap out in those few minutes was utter nonsense. He looked up again, subtly, but the man was gone. Taekwoon’s gaze tracked across the room, frantically trying to locate him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The image of that stranger in the corner sat uneasily in the back of his mind as he returned home.

That was the first time he saw him.

***

Over the next several days, Taekwoon saw him everywhere. At the end of a long alley, drenched in shadow. Across the aisle at the market, gone in a blink once he rounded the corner. In the rush hour crowd at the metro station. Passing by him on the crosswalk in a rainy intersection, hiding behind a forest of umbrellas.

One evening, he saw him clearly for the first time. He had just gotten up to the floor of his building after another late-night inspiration run, this time to a local park, when he saw the second elevator open and some of his neighbors (with whom he was not awfully familiar) file out. Just as the doors closed those last few inches, he saw the figure for the first time in the light. A bold paisley suit. A shock of whitish-silver hair. Sharp, haunted eyes lined in kohl and red shadow. A long face and strong jaw. Hands decorated with elaborate tattoos. The stranger looked up at him and smirked just as the metal doors sealed shut.

Taekwoon was shaking, dropping his keys several times before he managed to get into his apartment and lock the door behind him. He remained leaned against that very door, breathing heavily and trying to get his racing heart under control.

There was absolutely no mistaking what he saw. That garish multicolor suit had no place in modern society, that bold white hair was an abnormal choice for anyone who was not involved in the arts, and the tattoos, a taboo in most circles, he seemed to wear proudly.

Taekwoon knew the man.

Taekwoon also knew the man was not real.

***

Taekwoon soothed himself to sleep with a dose of his anxiety medication and a little too much soju. The image of that man was burned into his retinas, and every time he blinked, he saw him.

Taekwoon had invented that man, right there on his laptop, though several years prior.

The novel series he was currently working to complete, intended to be a trilogy, followed a detective who was seeking a sexually sadistic murderer; a serial killer who had thus far eluded him. The detective was drawn into a dark and dangerous world chasing after this man, having to become the Beautiful Liar the title promised. The detective’s work was further complicated when he fell in love with a woman he was convinced fit the profile for a victim of the sadistic killer.

The killer known in his novel only as Ravi.

The killer he invented.

The killer who had appeared, exactly as Taekwoon had described him, in his elevator.

Of course, common sense told him that it wasn’t real. Common sense told him he was hallucinating, he was stressed, he was under too much pressure, he was pushing himself too hard… 

He didn't feel much comfort in such desperately contrived excuses, but he found restful sleep under the influence of his alcohol and meds, the darkness swallowing him whole until well into the next morning.

***

When he saw the man again, it was the final straw.

Upon returning home that night, Taekwoon called his agent. He paced as the line rang, checking the locks on his apartment door again before closing the blinds. When the line connected and his agent’s voice greeted him, he actually jumped slightly.

“Hey, Shinwoo. Sorry to call so suddenly.” Taekwoon said, a nervous pitch in his tone.

“You sound… a little strung out. Everything all right?” The man on the other end of the line asked.

“Eh… could be better.” Taekwoon admitted. “Listen… I'm gonna head to the cabin for a few weeks. Clear my head, you know? It's too loud here… I can't write like this anymore.”

“Mm, getting picky about where you write? That's never a good sign.” His agent teased. “Well, as long as you deliver, I don't care if you write in Bora-Bora.”

“Nothing that drastic yet.” Taekwoon assured. “I’m sure the cabin is exactly what I need.”

The cabin was located in a forested area north of Namyangju, nestled next to a small lake. Owning the cabin was about three-quarters of the reason he even had a car, and so he drove himself out the next day. The drive was relaxing, isolating… he could already feel his frayed nerves settling themselves.

However, Taekwoon began to regret his decision to stay in the cabin on the very first night.

In the city, there had been a level of plausible deniability when it came to his mysterious stalker. He could convince himself, if he tried, that he was seeing things… that it had merely been a trick of the light and too many people. But in the solitude of the cabin, he had no such recourse.

When he stood in the kitchen and watched the moonlight twinkling across the water of the lake, he could not deny that he saw the shape of a man standing there in the shadows.

No one lived nearby. There was no other house or city for miles. If there was someone out there… they were there for him.

Taekwoon made a habit of checking the locks every few minutes, pacing around the cabin. He did his best not to look out the windows, but every so often, he could not help but steal a glance. There was no longer a figure standing by the lake. However, he swore he heard footsteps on his porch, and saw the shadow of a man walk by one of the sliding doors.

He took another of his anxiety pills and fell asleep shaking under the covers.

When he awoke the next day, it was after noon. He made himself coffee, guzzling down most of it far too quickly. He was pacing through the living room when his eyes lighted upon the front door.

The front door which was decidedly ajar.

He crossed the room in a panic, slamming the door shut with a snap. However, he hadn’t managed to turn the lock before he heard a noise behind him. He turned, eyes darting around the room… but there was no one.

“Who’s there?” Taekwoon hissed. The fact that it was daytime did not quell his nerves at all. He looked around for something he could improvise as a weapon, but couldn’t find anything easily within reach. He clutched his coffee cup to his chest and padded down the hall, looking for the source of the noise.

“Hello?” He called, voice trembling.

He thought he heard a small scoff of a laugh before pain bloomed across his skull and his world went black.

***

Taekwoon came to with a horrendous headache and the distinct feeling that his limbs were bound to whatever chair he was propped upon. A cursory twist of his hands told him it was duct tape. As his eyes blinked open, he caught sight of a man in his field of vision, far too close to him, well into his personal space, a menacing grin upon his face. That blurry image soon began to clear. White hair. Cold eyes. That garish multicolor suit.

It was said that the human brain could not create a face. Anyone you ever dreamed up or imagined had to be based on someone you saw, if even briefly. He wondered if the face he had constructed in his mind for Ravi was made up of different parts of various people he had met, or if, perhaps, someone out there did exist with that same handsome countenance.

The tattoos, too, were exact, down to each precise detail that no description in a novel could ever truly convey.

This was Ravi. Sadistic murderer, rapist, serial killer. This was the villain he had created.

“Hello, Taekwoon.”

His voice was deep and smooth, like black dupioni silk; soft and elegant at its face, with an undercurrent which was rough and abrasive. It sounded every bit the way he had described, just in the way he had written it when he imagined him.

Taekwoon shivered, looking upon his creation.

“Y-you… I know… who you are…”

Ravi chuckled, then, a sound that rumbled in his chest, deep and dark and mysterious like a vast ocean trench. “But of course you do. Would a father not recognize his own child? Would an artist not recognize their own masterpiece?”

“You… aren't real. You can't be.” Taekwoon stammered, his voice hardly audible.

“Oh, I think you'll find I'm quite real.” Ravi quipped, bringing his index finger up and dragging the pad of the digit down the other man’s cheek.

It was a simple touch… gentle, even… but when that finger ran across his skin, Taekwoon felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. At that moment, he could no longer deny that Ravi was real. He could no longer continue convincing himself that the image in front of him was some fantasy, some illusion conjured by his own mind due to exhaustion or anxiety or anything else. He was his own written word made flesh. He was real. He was real. He was—

“Ah. I can see in your eyes that you've moved beyond denial. Where will your mind light upon next, my beautiful creator?” Ravi cocked his head. “Will you grow angry? Will you bargain with me? You may find I'm very agreeable, with the right motivation.”

“How is this possible?” Taekwoon asked in a breathless whisper.

“Questions, hm? Interesting. I must admit, I wasn't concerned with the ‘how’.” Ravi told him with an aloof shrug. “The world you created and the world you know are two sides of the same coin. The veil between our worlds became fragile. I pushed.”

He stalked around him again, running his hands through the writer’s dark locks, pushing them back and causing the other man to try to crane his head away.

“I could hear you… the buzzing in that head of yours became so loud, it was like a constant roar of white noise drowning out even my own thoughts. So I followed it.” Ravi finally moved away, letting go of the other man’s hair.

Taekwoon let out a small sound, both relieved and frightened. He caught his breath before asking, “Why?”

“I wanted to meet my maker.” Ravi purred, leaning down until his face was an inch from the other man’s cheek. “And what a beautiful god you are.”

“If I'm your god, then why tie me up? Why treat me like this?” 

“Because I'm here for a reason, gorgeous creator. I came here with a purpose. I am here to help you.” Ravi told him with a slow smile.

“Help me?” Taekwoon spat. “Just how the hell do you plan to do that?”

“I am every one of your deepest, darkest desires.” Ravi said, his fingers dragging over the writer’s collarbone and up his neck. The other man writhed away from the touch. 

“You're sick.” Taekwoon gritted out. “I would never… want to be like you.”

“Be _like_ me? Oh Maker… I know you don't want to _be_ me. But you do _want_ me. I am the culmination of every one of your secret fantasies, your needs, your… fetishes. Every attention you’ve never received. Everything you’ve ever wanted a man to do to you… and _god_ , what I'm going to do to you…”

Taekwoon’s face flushed. “Wh-what?”

“I'm only here because you want this. I couldn't possibly exist if you didn't.” The words slithered around him like a lie, but they stung like a bitter truth.

“I'm… that's not true, it's not…” Taekwoon argued weakly.

“I think we both know you're kidding yourself.” Ravi muttered flatly, no longer sounding amused. “The sooner you admit that, the sooner I'll let you enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy… myself…?”

Taekwoon felt regret seep into the very marrow of his bones at the sinister smirk Ravi gave as his only reply.

***

The duct tape Ravi had used to bind Taekwoon was quickly replaced with rope, intricately tied into a dragonfly sleeve. He took his time with it, folding each knot with precision and care before finally cutting away the tape underneath. Once he was satisfied, he took his scissors to Taekwoon’s shirt, practically growling as the beautiful, blank canvas of his torso was revealed.

“Oh, Creator. We are going to do such beautiful work together.” Ravi moaned, carding a hand into the writer’s hair. He leaned in and kissed the other man, forcing his tongue into the other’s mouth when he refused to respond. When Taekwoon’s teeth came down a little too harshly on Ravi’s tongue, the hand in his hair tightened and he let up on the bite.

When the killer pulled back, Taekwoon was glaring at him. He didn’t beg him to stop. Didn’t ask him what he was planning on doing. He already knew it was pointless. He already knew exactly what Ravi wanted. He wouldn’t give him his ideal victim. He wouldn’t play his game.

“I know exactly what you’re doing.” Ravi sing-songed, biting his lip. “I wonder how long you can last, pretending not to react. We haven’t even begun yet, but already you’re trying so hard!”

The killer produced a switchblade from his jacket pocket, flicking out the knife and brandishing it too-near Taekwoon’s face. He regarded it for a moment, almost contemplative, before letting the very tip of the blade rake through the pristine flesh just above Taekwoon’s clavicle. The writer let out a soft hiss, swallowing a shout of surprise.

Ravi leaned down and licked the blood from the wound, sucking it dry before pulling back and grinning at the other man with a full-body shiver. “Oh, the things I have in store for you.”

Without pause, he grabbed Taekwoon by the ropes binding him and hauled him over to the bed. He threw him against the headboard, securing him there with excess rope before he could put up much of a struggle. He did fight him, however, thrashing just out of his grip… until Ravi pressed that knife to his throat. He stilled, catching his breath and watching the killer carefully.

“Ah-ah, we need to behave ourselves if we want to avoid too much suffering.” Ravi teased, climbing into his lap as he finished the last knot.

“Don’t make me laugh. You're a sexual sadist… you don't get off on the sex as much as you get off on the torture.” Taekwoon gritted out. “You seem to forget, I created you.”

“Oh, you may have made me, but I am so much more.” The other man retorted. “You planted a seed. You watered it. You left it in the light. But whatever I've become… you had no control over that outcome.”

“And what is it that you think you’ve become?” Taekwoon bit back.

“Exactly what you need me to be.” Ravi husked darkly against his ear. “Your mind is cluttered… a frenzy of useless thoughts and inhibiting emotions. I'm here to free you from that.”

“Why?” Taekwoon asked, his voice a ragged whisper.

Ravi grinned, his knife sliding down lower, over his pectoral, now. “I want you to finish my story, Maker. Let's write it together, shall we?”

Taekwoon knew exactly what that meant.

“You're so gorgeous… it almost makes me regret wanting to ruin you.” Ravi’s eyes were dark as he flicked the tip of the knife against his skin again, just over his heart this time. When a single line of blood dripped from the cut, he licked it clean. “Almost.”

“That's all you do… is ruin people.” Taekwoon hissed. “All those women… you rape, and you torture, and you—”

“You wrote all that! It came from that beautiful mind.” Ravi smirked, tapping at the dark haired man’s forehead in condescension. “And you did me such a disservice. I think we both know that I wouldn't limit myself to only female victims. I am just as fond of the male form. Maybe more so. Or… maybe it's just you.”

Taekwoon sneered. “You know I can’t write that. Not if—”

“Not if you wanted to have your book reach national acclaim, I’m aware.” Ravi grumbled. “But… you have failed to truly represent me, Creator. The version of me that is in your book… that is not the version of me that is in your head. Is it?”

Taekwoon just stared at him with a recalcitrant glare.

Ravi’s empty hand whipped out, wrapping around the writer’s neck and squeezing. He asked again, louder. “Is it?”

Taekwoon strained for air, forcing out the words. “You’re right. You’re… you’re right. It’s not.”

Ravi released him, though his thumb trailed down the other man’s adam’s apple as he licked his lips. “Then allow me to show you the Ravi that your mind wove together, but the world has never seen.”

***

Taekwoon didn't know how much time had passed. All he knew was that his chest was a canvas of new cuts, each one a little deeper or wider than the last. He knew that the longer that Ravi went on like this, the less restraint he would show. He’d been relatively tame so far, compared to what Taekwoon knew he was capable of.

He had created him, after all.

“Mm, Maker… you look so lovely like this. Covered in my work.” Ravi murmured. “But we have so much more to do.”

He set his knife aside long enough to peel off Taekwoon’s sleep pants and boxers. The writer thrashed, seemingly in protest, but it was all a cover so he could kick the knife away. He couldn’t do much if he couldn’t get out of his bindings, but at least he would be spared any more shallow wounds… for now.

Once his prey was entirely naked, Ravi’s eyes raked over him hungrily. “So much pristine flesh still to play with. Oh, we will have so much fun...”

His hand moved to where his knife had been, but he paused when he could not find it. His eyes leveled on Taekwoon, narrowing. The writer had a terrible poker face, and glanced away.

“Such a clever one you are, my creator.” Ravi growled, wrapping his fingers around Taekwoon’s neck and squeezing just enough to make him struggle for air. “But I have plenty of ways to mark you.”

He dipped his head down and sank his teeth into Taekwoon’s shoulder hard enough to break skin. The man under him lurched and let out a pained shout. It was the first real noise he’d made since Ravi started. It made the killer shudder.

Ravi licked his lips as he pulled back, his bite having reopened a few cuts that had already begun scabbing over. He moved his hand up to the other man’s chin and pressed his thumb against his lower lip, hard. Taekwoon gulped for air, his vision swimming slightly.

“Oh, Maker. What beautiful sounds I’m going to pull out of you.” Ravi intoned, pulling his thumb away only to push his first two fingers into the other man’s mouth. He scissored them around the tongue that was fighting against them so valiantly. “Come, now. Get them nice and wet, or else you’ll only be hurting yourself.”

Taekwoon’s spine went rigid. He fought the urge to bite down on those fingers, knowing it would only earn him more pain. The bastard would probably just like it, anyway.

Ravi had felt his reaction, and it had him grinning like a damn Cheshire cat. “Hmm… all this fun I’ve had with you and only now you become concerned? Is it because you’re afraid it will hurt so much more? Or… are you afraid you’ll like it?”

Taekwoon growled around the fingers in his mouth and Ravi laughed as he pulled them out. “Fuck off.” He spat once his mouth was free.

“I’d rather fuck you.” Ravi quipped, climbing closer between Taekwoon’s knees and pressing his hand between the writer’s legs. His free hand clutched at his hair, wrenching his head back so painfully that the man beneath him let out a hiss. “Don’t worry, sweet maker. I’ll make sure you enjoy it.”

Taekwoon let out a strained whine when Ravi’s finger entered him, not nearly slick enough. It burned with each insistent push and pull, even more so than the rough grip yanking on his scalp. He could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he willed them not to fall. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He wouldn’t beg him to stop, either. He knew it would only turn him on. He loved it when his victims fought. He took pleasure in putting them in their place. Taekwoon knew better than to give him that.

Too soon, Ravi was pushing a second finger alongside the second and Taekwoon let slip a pained yelp. When he blinked, the tears he’d been so valiantly holding back streaked down his face. The killer shushed him in a sickeningly soothing way, his tongue catching one of those tears as he licked a stripe up to his temple.

“Oh Creator… I know it hurts… but it will only feel good if you let it.” Ravi husked against his ear before curling both his fingers in tandem against the bundle of nerves inside him. Taekwoon jolted, a needy whine punching its way out of his chest. His cock twitched, finally responding to the ministrations. Ravi’s eyes gleamed. “That’s it. Give into it.”

The next sound Taekwoon made was a sob of a moan, forced out of his throat, unbidden, when Ravi raked his fingers over his prostate again. He hated that he was responding. He wished he could curl up and hide away. But Ravi held firmly to him, moving his fingers with increasing insistence inside him, working to drag more of those noises out of him. Taekwoon tried to stop himself from letting him hear any more of it.

But Ravi… he was skilled at more than just knifeplay and ropes, and he kept Taekwoon writhing under him, swallowing bitten-off groans when the pads of his fingers pressed against that same spot inside him with practiced, torturous efficiency. He could feel the pleasure building inside him despite his disgust and his rage. He wanted to will it away, but he couldn’t. His nerves were alight, that fire coiling behind his navel. He shivered, letting out a soft whine as his cock twitched.

“Ah-ah, not just yet.” Ravi drawled, letting go of Taekwoon’s hair to wrap his fingers around the base of the writer’s cock, locking them there, too-tight, and cutting off the blood flow. “You’ll come when I say you can come.”

Taekwoon let out a whimpering sob. He felt disgusted with himself that he even wanted to come. But he did, _god_ he wanted it.

Ravi continued to fuck him in that torturous rhythm with his fingers, not letting up. The grip at the base of Taekwoon’s cock didn’t err, either, preventing him from reaching that release which had once felt so close. Whenever the writer shivered, feeling too much like he may finally come, Ravi would pause, giving him a moment to wind down before starting again.

Taekwoon didn’t want to beg. He refused. But god, this was a worse kind of torture than any pain the man had inflicted. He wanted to hate it. He willed his body not to respond in the way that it did. But it did, and now he was biting his tongue, fighting against every instinct that made him want to beg, to plead with his captor to let him come.

But Ravi had not asked him to beg. He had no intention of letting Taekwoon come until he wanted him to. Some part of the writer knew that. There was no point in begging. 

Taekwoon had an awful poker face. He must have looked defeated, because Ravi appeared to take pity on him. He gave a slow, venomous grin, letting go of his cock and pulling his fingers out of him. The writer hissed, his eyes meeting his captor’s. He knew what came next.

Ravi reached behind him, untying the ropes that held him to the headboard and letting them drop to one side of the mattress before grabbing Taekwoon and flipping him over. He nearly slammed into the headboard, unable to catch himself, but his captor swiftly grabbed hold of the ropes on his arms and held him up by them with one hand. His unoccupied hand set to work freeing his cock from his slacks and boxers… he was still fully clothed, wearing that distinctive multicolor suit of his. It just made Taekwoon feel more vulnerable that he was stripped entirely bare and his captor wasn’t. Ravi knew that all too well.

“Are you ready, Maker?” Ravi cooed, letting saliva pool in his hand before he palmed his cock, slicking himself up. He was already hard; Taekwoon could feel the tip of him brushing against the curve of his ass when he pumped himself.

The man beneath him didn’t answer, just screwed his eyes shut and let his head drop.

“Oh, sweet creator. I promise it will feel good, if you let it.” Ravi murmured as he breached him. Taekwoon whined in agony, his wrists twisting under the rope as he tried to find purchase, anything to brace him against the pain. He was no stranger to this kind of sex, but not with such a lack of lube. Then again, this could hardly be called sex. It was just another form of torture.

After what felt like forever, Ravi finally bottomed out. He settled there for a long moment, nestled inside that too-tight heat, but reveling more so in the control he had than the feeling of it. His free hand found the base of Taekwoon’s cock again, holding him tightly so he couldn’t come, and only then did he begin to move.

The first slide was rough, the overload of friction burning at Taekwoon from the inside. Even Ravi hissed, letting a long line of saliva dribble from his mouth down onto his cock to ease the next thrust. It was only marginally less painful for Taekwoon, but leagues easier for Ravi. The killer settled into a fast, rough rhythm that had the writer jolting from each motion of his hips, only spared from slamming into the headboard by the killer’s hold on him.

Taekwoon didn’t know how long Ravi fucked him… but he knew he was painfully hard again, his captor’s cock raking over that bundle of nerves inside him that set his blood alight. He wanted to scream, to beg, to fight, to plead… but all he could do was kneel there and take it. He was utterly at the other man’s mercy in all ways.

“You made me…” Ravi purred after too long, his grip tightening on the ropes on Taekwoon’s wrists. “But I own you.”

Taekwoon let out a soft whine of what may have been defeated agreement, and his captor smiled.

“Good.” Ravi released his oppressive hold on Taekwoon’s cock and stroked him in time with his thrusts. “Now come.”

The noise that Taekwoon gave then was a wrecked, broken sob as he was finally allowed his release. He came hard, staining the headboard and the pillows as Ravi pulled every last ounce out of him. He was shaking as the killer continued fucking him, his pace only becoming more brutal as he watched him.

“Fuck… you’re beautiful when you come, my glorious creator.” Ravi growled, his hips rolling harder against his captive, so hard that each thrust punched a whine out of him. He leaned down and latched his teeth against Taekwoon’s shoulder blade so hard he broke the skin. He came to the sound of the man beneath him crying out in pain, filling him. He was inside him, now. He was a part of him, both body and mind… he could never be scrubbed away.

***

After Ravi had his fun, Taekwoon had collapsed onto the bed, curled in on himself and cried softly until he had fallen asleep. His captor just let him. He’d merely sighed boredly and tucked himself away, muttering about what else he had in store. He almost seemed offended.

When Taekwoon awoke, his shoulders were killing him. He'd been left in the ropes all night, tied intricately into a dragonfly sleeve all the way up past his elbows. He ached all over, but it wasn't until he rolled his weight onto his shoulder that he whined in pain.

Ravi almost seemed to materialize next to him, and dread settled like a stone in Taekwoon’s stomach.

“Hm, that was irresponsible of me, I suppose.” The killer admitted, knee-walking onto the bed and deftly undoing the restraints. Taekwoon just glowered at him. “Oh don't look at me like that. I could just leave you that way.”

Taekwoon schooled his expression, looking away. He flexed his hands and hissed when the ropes finally slipped off of him, though Ravi was still holding tightly to his wrists. He brought them around in front of him and got to work tying yet another intricate knot, though this one did not reach past his elbows. His arms tingled uncomfortably as the blood rushed back to them, and he cringed when Ravi moved them.

“Hurts?” Ravi asked, moving his hands up Taekwoon’s arms once his wrists were fully bound, massaging them. The writer nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. He winced with every squeeze when they sent uncomfortable jolts of electricity through him. “I’ll give you a minute. Get the blood flowing in your arms again.”

Taekwoon didn’t want to ask what he was giving him a minute until. He formulated several likely answers in his mind, all more humiliating and horrifying than the last. While he let his mind light upon all those awful possibilities, Ravi continued working his fingers into his muscles until they no longer felt electrified under each press of his digits. Once Taekwoon stopped cringing at the touch, Ravi seemed satisfied, and took hold of the long line of rope which he’d left to dangle in the middle of the intricate knot he’d tied between the writer’s wrists. He had plenty of extra lead, since he hadn’t used as much of the rope as he had the first time. Then, he glanced up.

The cabin was built with a rustic feel, and the vaulted ceilings had visible banisters in deep wood crisscrossing all along the room. Ravi eyed them for a long moment before tossing the rope over one of them, somehow managing to loop it over the banister directly overhead with a single throw. He caught the rope and began to feed the line back down. Taekwoon’s arms rose as he continued to pull, and he swallowed when he realized just what the killer was doing.

Ravi pulled the rope taut, hauling Taekwoon up until his knees were just barely taking his weight on the bed, a fair amount of his body weight being held up by the rope. It stretched his torso out in a way that was just sinful, and Ravi couldn't help but admire his work, his free hand roaming over that canvas of cuts and bruises. He pulled away only long enough to secure the end of the lead with another elegant knot on one of the strong slats in the headboard. Taekwoon let out a shaky breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Ravi stared at him like he was watching art in motion.

Ravi leaned away from him for a moment, grabbing something that was out of Taekwoon’s field of vision thanks to where his arms were pinned to either side of his head.

“Now, my gorgeous creator… I want you to enjoy it this time.” Ravi said, carding a hand into the writer’s hair and kissing him. It was not forceful… it was languid and impassioned and it made Taekwoon’s gut twist that it was just the way he would want to be kissed were he with any other man. “This is as much for you as it is for me.”

And Taekwoon knew that, in his own sick way, Ravi was telling the truth.

He hadn’t even pulled away from that deceptively sweet kiss for more than a second when Taekwoon felt the harsh snap of something crack against the back of his thigh. He let out a startled yelp, looking down to see Ravi grinning with absolute glee, an elegant black riding crop in his hand.

“Oh, Maker… I could listen to you make sounds like that forever.” The killer growled, bringing the crop down again. Taekwoon jolted with a soft, helpless noise, straining against the rope as his whole body lurched. Ravi just shivered.

Taekwoon lost count of how many times the other man hit him. The backs of his thighs and the curve of his ass were on fire, each place where the man had struck him stinging like a brand. He couldn't see it, but he knew he would bear the marks from this, too.

After what felt like an eternity, Ravi dropped the switch, grabbing Taekwoon roughly by the hips and hauling him against his chest. The writer let out an agonized whine at the shock of pain it sent blooming across his sensitive skin. 

“Fuck, Taekwoon… you're fucking glorious.” Ravi husked against his ear, letting go with his right hand to reach between them and palm at his own cock. “Think I could come just listening to you.”

Taekwoon’s pain-addled brain supplied that the man had used his name for the first time since introducing himself. He wondered why it sent a thrill up his spine to hear it.

He couldn't dwell on it, because Ravi was pushing two spit-slick fingers into him, causing him to jolt and strain against the ropes. It didn't hurt as much as it had yesterday, but he wondered if that was only because it was a mild counterpart to the distinct ache across the rest of his body.

Ravi didn't prep him for long before he was pressing his cock inside him, dripping with his own saliva. He was practically drooling over Taekwoon, his tongue laving over the bite mark on his shoulder as he pulled him back to fully seat him with strong hands on his hips.

Taekwoon winced when the rough fabric of Ravi’s suit scraped the red-hot, sensitive flesh of his backside again. The drawn-out little moan of discomfort he let out was taken for something else entirely, however, and Ravi rubbed his hands down the fronts of the writer's thighs as he let himself adjust.

“God… I'm going to fuck you until you see stars.” He promised in a gruff tone, pulling out only to drag him back hard with that iron grip back on his waist. Taekwoon wailed, the rough smack of Ravi’s hips against his raw skin hurting far more than his cock ever could.

It didn't deter the killer. Instead, he picked up a brutal pace that had Taekwoon whimpering and sobbing, the tears streaming freely down his face from the pain and the pleasure, both feelings so overwhelming as they entwined in a thorny tangle under his skin. The salty sting of sweat in his wounds burned over every inch of him, as if his whole body were on fire. He felt as though at any moment he may combust, break apart into a million pieces, entirely irreparable.

He felt Ravi’s arm move to bar across the front of his waist for leverage, the other hand coming up to wrap around his throat. Taekwoon felt a flash of fear consume him as Ravi’s fingers tightened on either side of his neck. Suddenly everything went tight and panic bubbled in his chest. But his captor never erred, just pistoned his hips hard and rough and fast.

Taekwoon felt his vision go hazy. He didn’t understand it… he could breathe, but the grip on either side of his throat was like iron, cutting off his circulation. Ravi wasn’t strangling or choking him. He was… he was… 

That hand which was so tightly clamped around him suddenly let go and he felt all the blood struggle to rush back to its place. He saw spots. His head swam. And then Ravi growled, “Now come.”

Taekwoon’s body obeyed as though the killer had a grip on his very soul. He let out a harsh cry, arching against his binds and coming hard across the sheets. He could feel Ravi twitching inside him, filling him again, his movements stuttering before finally ceasing. For a moment, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, like a torrent of white noise or a roaring river and then… then, there was nothing.

Everything was blessedly silent.

The anxiety which had plagued him, the barrage of too many ideas or the fear of having too few… the voice of his agent, his publishers, the fans, all echoing inside his head, it all ceased. There was nothing but him, and Ravi, and everything Ravi was doing to him.

And then, in that glorious silence, he heard her. His muse, whispering in his ear. He could feel her soft influence float across the back of his mind, paragraphs of beautifully-woven words in her wake. His fingers itched to write. They were the only part of him that twitched, then, as if he could commit each thought to the pages fed into an invisible typewriter. He knew what story needed to be told. He knew how to end his tale.

But then, someone else was speaking. A voice like smoke and fire. It pulled him back into awareness.

“Did that feel good, my beautiful creator?” A voice like Ravi’s cooed, echoing in his mind. It sounded like him, though it seemed far too kind.

Taekwoon managed to grunt in affirmation, too deep within his own headspace to properly respond.

Ravi only grinned.

***

Ravi kept at it for days. Taekwoon’s only sense of time came from the rising and setting of the sun through the windows. In the morning, and at night, Ravi would sit on his lap and feed him oatmeal or stew like he was a child. He was only dragged out of the bed when he was permitted to use the restroom and when Ravi bathed him, wiping away the blood and sweat and come. He spent that time admiring his work, pressing his fingers into the fresh bruises, running his tongue over shallow cuts, mouthing across the numerous bite marks littering his flesh.

“When I found you, you were a beautiful, blank canvas.” Ravi murmured against his ear as he dragged a wet washcloth over him, pink with blood and soap. “Now you are my finest masterpiece.”

He didn't seem satisfied with his work just yet, however, and fucked him right there over the bathtub, clamping his teeth at the back of his neck and leaving yet another mark. Taekwoon had been released from his ropes, but he didn't fight him. He found himself surprised by just how much he didn't want to.

When he came screaming Ravi’s name and clutching his hair, the killer knew that Taekwoon was his.

***

More than a week had gone by and Taekwoon was beginning to get disoriented. Time felt like an illusion. He counted seconds in labored breaths, minutes in sharp cuts and hours in delayed orgasms. He ached everywhere. There wasn't an inch of his flesh that hadn't been marked by Ravi in some way. He felt as though the man had put a brand on his very soul.

And despite it all, despite the pain and the torture, he had come to crave it. When Ravi reentered the room, his cock would twitch like a filthy traitor.

He hated himself.

He hated that Ravi had been entirely right about him. Everything this man was, was because Taekwoon willed it. Wanted it. He craved the domination, the worship, the sheer need that Ravi had for him. He was disgusted with himself.

Or… was this Ravi’s voice in his head? Was this his influence? He was delirious, his body in a constant flux and somehow perfect balance of pleasure and pain. He didn't know what day it was, or how long the killer planned to keep him there. Was this his existence now? He wondered if fate had truly woven such a torturous end for him.

It had been so long that he'd been holed up in the cabin with his captor that he'd forgotten about the existence of the outside world. It was late… it had been dark for some time, he knew. He was tied to the headboard, arms above his head, while Ravi tended to something across the room. Perhaps some new device to torture him with… he couldn't say. He maintained, in his foremost thoughts, that he didn't want to know… even though he absolutely did.

Taekwoon’s head lolled when he heard something in the stillness of the night… a car, tires on leaves. Lights flashed through the living room window before abruptly shutting off when the driver killed the engine.

Ravi had perked up, too, expression positively gleaming. “A visitor? How exciting.”

Taekwoon’s blood turned to ice.

“Ravi… whoever it is, please. Just… let them go.” The writer’s tone was a desperate plea.

“Taek? Taek, it's Shinwoo.” They heard, muffled through the door.

Taekwoon closed his eyes, his entire body filling with dread. “Ravi, please.” He begged, his voice cracking.

Ravi ignored him, practically salivating. He licked his lips as he exited the room, leaving Taekwoon alone.

The writer let out a silent sob.

“Taek? Taekwoon, are you in here?” Shinwoo padded inside slowly when he found the door unlocked, looking around. “Listen, I know it helps to disconnect sometimes but… this might not be healthy. No one can get through on your phone, you haven’t answered our texts or emails...”

Taekwoon was hyperventilating now. Should he call out to him, warning him to run? He was certain Ravi would only make it worse on them if he did. But could he simply stay silent? His head was swimming. Tears burned in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t know what to do.

Shinwoo stopped near the hallway. “Taek? It’s just. No one’s heard from you in a while and I got worried.”

“What a charming sentiment.” Ravi told him, appearing from the shadows with a quirk of his brow before knocking him out with a blow to the head.

***

When Shinwoo came to, his bleary vision cleared upon Taekwoon, across the room from him. He was naked, nothing but a sheet haphazardly thrown over his lap for modesty. His arms were handcuffed over his head, held up with ropes on the headboard. He looked like hell... his body covered in bruises, cuts and visible bite marks. His face was stained with tears and he looked regretful. When he made to move toward him, he realized he was tied to a chair. He struggled against the binds.

“Taek, what the hell happened to you? What’s going on?” Shinwoo asked, looking around. His eyes lighted upon Ravi, and he froze, his brow furrowing. “You… I know you. Don’t I?”

Ravi’s eyes gleamed and he smiled in that sinister way of his. The writer’s agent was peering at him as one might at a long-lost, near-forgotten friend. “But of course you do. I am Ravi.”

Shinwoo’s nose wrinkled. “Ravi? Ravi isn’t real.”

“Oh, I am very real.” Ravi drawled, his eyes dark as they raked over the newcomer.

“Ravi, please don’t hurt him.” Taekwoon begged. “Please, just let him go.”

“Oh, you know I won’t do that. But… I can’t say I even want him like I did the others. Even if he is attractive. I don't even care! God, Taekwoon… you've ruined me for other men, I think.” Ravi said in a mix of glee and frustration. “I still have use for him, though, I think. We can still have our fun with him.”

Shinwoo was still staring at Ravi in confusion, but he looked to the writer, then. “Taek! Don’t tell me you...”

“It's not what you think.” Taekwoon promised, though he couldn't say what exactly that meant. “I didn't base Ravi on anyone I knew. He just… appeared, he—”

“Oh Taekwoon, don't be so humble.” Ravi drawled, cutting him off. He honed in on Shinwoo, then, sucking on his own teeth as he straddled him there on the chair. There was a knife gleaming in his hand. “Taekwoon is my creator. He willed me into existence. And I only exist for one thing.”

Taekwoon watched the killer in horror. “Ravi. Ravi, please, don't do this. Please! Ravi… Ravi!”

Shinwoo let out a scream as Ravi plunged the knife into his chest. From the bed, Taekwoon was yelling, too, struggling against his bindings to no avail. Ravi stabbed him again and again, vermillion liquid dripping onto the hardwood floor beneath them. None of them had kept track of just how many times he had done it, but when he finally stopped, there were at least a dozen wounds in Shinwoo’s now-still chest.

Ravi let out a sound like sin and sex, giving a full-body shiver as he stepped back, admiring his work. His hands and his suit were covered in blood. He brought the knife up to his tongue and licked the blade clean, shivering again.

“Fucking glorious.” Ravi said, eyes sparkling as he climbed into the bed and settled himself on Taekwoon’s lap. He didn't even squirm, just sat there, hanging limply from his bindings and panting, his eyes on his agent’s corpse.

“Mm, don't get jealous. It's just you and me again.” Ravi murmured, his knife playing next to the other man’s ear, the tip scraping across his temple. “No one does it for me quite like you.”

“Oh my god… oh my god…” Taekwoon’s murmured litany continued as he stared past Ravi, wide-eyed at the bloody sight before him.

Over these last several days, he had allowed himself to forget just what kind of man… no, what kind of _monster_ , Ravi was… because he had not seen it beyond the pages of his book or his laptop screen. He had allowed himself to fantasize about the man who brought him such sadistic pleasure. But _this_ was the evil he had created. This was what he was capable of.

“I'm glad he came snooping.” Ravi admitted, his eyes rolling back as he bit his lip, taking hold of the other man’s jaw and smearing blood across his cheek. “I don't know how long I could have stopped myself from going too far with you.”

His fingers slipped down to cup Taekwoon’s chin and he kissed him, lapping up some of the blood on his cheek before licking it into his mouth. The writer wanted to gag, to spit it out, but Ravi kissed him like it was an offering, and he could do nothing but submit under his devotion.

When he pulled back, Ravi looked feral to Taekwoon, more so than he'd ever seen him. His bloodied lips were parted, his tongue settled between his teeth and eyes alight with hunger. 

“Ravi… what… what have you done?” Taekwoon whispered.

“Only what is in my nature.” Ravi told him, his voice like gravel. “You made me this way. I am a destroyer. And when I look upon the destruction I have wrought, I feel… powerful. I feel alive.”

His hand moved down again, his bloody fingers curling around the other man’s neck. He squeezed, but only just… it was enough to cause the writer's breath to hitch.

“Tell me, Taekwoon… what does a creator feel when he looks upon his creation?”

“I feel…” Taekwoon swallowed, his throat tight, adam’s apple bobbing under the other man’s palm. He felt terrified. Enraged. Guilty. He shivered when the greatest truth of all forced its way out of his throat like bile.

“I feel… whole.”

Ravi’s smirk shone in the darkness as Taekwoon’s confession hung between them before his words faded into the night. 

_Fin_

Epilogue

Taekwoon gave a taciturn smile as the nervous fan in front of him skittered off, clutching her book to her chest like it was made of gold. The next fan, another woman, stepped up to the table and set down her book… the third and final novel in the Beautiful Liar series. A stack of them was piled all around him, like a small fortress of pages and ink. He gave a cursory glance at the line, which was out the door of the Seoul bookstore he was currently sitting in. He wondered absently if he would get out of there before dark.

“I’m sure you've heard this so much today… but I was really so surprised with the way you ended the book. I really loved it, though! Such a dark ending that I wasn't expecting.” The fan prattled as Taekwoon signed her novel, not even looking at her. “I was truly shocked your publisher even green-lit it.”

He did look at her, then, a melancholy smile on his tired face. “I think my publisher understood the need to tell my story in this way. Sometimes your characters can… get away from you. They have a mind of their own.”

The bitter irony of his statement was lost on her. He continued, “And… especially after my agent’s death, it was my way to cope with a loss I felt somewhat responsible for.”

He tuned her out as she offered her condolences. The story given to the press, of course, was nothing near the truth. Shinwoo was written off as the victim of a carjacking on his way to check on Taekwoon after weeks of no contact. Ravi had staged everything and scrubbed away every scrap of evidence in the cabin, and the case had no suspects. The publishers had decided that while Taekwoon’s last installment was indeed controversial, given the horrible circumstances surrounding its completion, written by a man wracked with guilt and self-loathing, that it made for a poignant story (and a very, very juicy bit of press to boost publicity, so they wouldn't complain.)

It wasn't the ending Taekwoon had envisioned… his hero becoming a victim of Ravi, too, while his lover sought revenge, managing to gravely wound the killer before he disappeared into the night. She would always live with the looming fear that he was still living, still watching, still waiting… 

Taekwoon thumbed absently at the collar of his turtleneck, far out of season given that it was summer. The strap of leather and metal hidden underneath was his reminder of just who was watching him, too. Just who he belonged to. Ravi was never far from him, having been there as his creator wove together his final tale, then let him go about his life once more as though the weeks in that cabin had never occurred. But Ravi was always there… when he turned the corner, or when he returned home, stripping off those long-sleeved monstrosities that kept hidden all the killer continued to do to him.

“Thank you, and thank you for coming.” Taekwoon said automatically when the woman stopped talking, handing her book back to her.

He went on to sign the next book, glancing around distractedly. Every so often, he would catch a glimpse of that multicolor suit, a shock of white hair or that sinister grin hidden just behind the aisles or slipping between two faces in the crowd. It was a promise of what awaited him. It was a promise of the eternity and inevitability of Ravi’s presence in his life, now and always.

It was said that a writer made himself immortal by creating characters and worlds which would live on long after he was dead.

Taekwoon only wished he had seen that for the warning that it was, for he had created an evil which would live on forever.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most intense thing I’ve ever written and it was quite far out of my comfort zone so please do not expect more like this in the future.


End file.
